John W. James

Where were you when I needed you?

The saddest question we ever hear is, "Where were you when I needed you?"

That's what people ask when they find out what we do in helping grievers. We're presenting helpful and accurate information on this site, at the time you need it most, with the hope that you'll never need to ask that question.

It's an honor and a sad privilege to be addressing you, knowing that each of you has recently experienced the death of someone important to you. We also know some of you are reading this because of your care and concern for someone who is confronted by the death of someone important in their life.

We bring our personal experience in dealing with the deaths of people who were important to us, and our professional know-how in helping grievers for more than 30 years. We'll help you distinguish between the "raw grief" that is your normal and natural reaction to the death, and the equally normal "unresolved grief" that relates to the unfinished emotions that are part of the physical ending of all relationships.

A basic reality for most grieving people is difficulty concentrating or focusing. With that in mind, we asked Tributes.com to print our articles in a large type font to make them easier to read. Sharing our concern for grieving people, they agreed.

Ask The Grief Experts

If we knew it was going to be their last night, we'd move heaven and earth to be there (Published 3-20-2012)

Q:

Dear J &R,
I lost my dad April 10th so it's been a little less than a year. We were so so close. My dad was only 53 when he died suddenly. My dad was always afraid he would die young because his dad died when he was 53, so now I have this same thought as he did. I'm just like him and I'm afraid that I too will die at 53! I'm only 30 but can't help think that I also will be a diabetic and have a blood clot as my dad and his father did.

How can I get past the thought that I only have 23 years left, I know that know one knows the future but how do I get past these feelings? My other question is I am still angry and upset that I was not at the hospital when it happened I got the phone call at 3 am. I can't get past that I was not with him by his side every night. I have the same bad dream of running to the elevator at the hospital beating on the buttons till the doors open and running down the hall to his room! Not one night since his death have I slept without having this dream. I'm sure you can understand how this can affect every part of me and the day. Please help!!

A Grief Expert Replies:

Dear Amber,

Thanks for your note and questions.

There are so many elements in your note that we imagine that in addition to your broken heart, you have a great deal of confusion.

Let us address the feelings you have about not being at the hospital when your dad died. Based on the tone and emotions in your note, we’d bet all the money in the world, that if you knew that night was going to be the night he died, you would have been at the hospital. With that belief, we think you do yourself a big disservice by focusing on that aspect. It distracts you from your primary grief about the fact that he died, and how sad you are and that you miss him.

As to the bad dream: We have written an essay called Stuck on a Painful Image. We will paste it in below our signatures so you can read it. It will help you get unstuck from the nightly bad dreams. Doing that will also help you stay focused on your relationship with your dad over your 30 years, and not stay stuck only on the end of his life.

We hope this helps.

From our hearts to yours,

Russell And John

“Stuck On a Painful Image.”

One of the most painful of all experiences is to have a loved one die violently. You may have seen the accident or the aftermath. You may have seen photos of the scene. Or you may only have the pictures your imagination has conjured up. In any event, for many people, the imagery seems constant, as if it will never cease. Some of you may have equally disturbing images of your loved one's final hours, days, or weeks as they struggled through a terminal illness.The devastating nature of some diseases often alters appearance so much, that you hardly recognize someone you have known your entire life.

Most people, in trying to help a friend, will tell them not to think about it. That is very nearly impossible. We think it is more helpful to acknowledge that the images and pictures are indeed horrible and painful. We also believe that the griever needs to be gently reminded that they have many thousands of other images as well. We do not all get to go "gently into that good night," as poetry would have it. A woman tells us of her husband's final night at the hospital, with vivid details. Our response is, "What a horrible final picture that is for you." Then we ask, "Do you remember the first time you saw the man who became your husband?" She says yes, and we say, "Tell us what he looked like that day." And she does.

We all have tens of thousands of images of our loved ones. Some of the images are wonderful and happy. Some are negative and sad. And sometimes the final ones are very painful, as when violence or disease have altered how someone looked.It is unrealistic to tell someone not to remember what they saw or imagined. By acknowledging the discomfort of the final, unpleasant pictures, we allow the remembering of all the other pictures. Each time the ending pictures crop up, they must be acknowledged.

Acknowledging the painful pictures and remembering others does not deny or minimize the painful ones. When grievers are allowed and encouraged to state what they are experiencing, the painful pictures subside more quickly. This leaves more room for the review of the entire relationship, not just the ending.